Color Or Colors Unknown
by Golden Gecko
Summary: Deborah and Daniel have just awoken to not only their identities being erased, but also a change of skin tone as well. All they have is each other but even that will fade as they learn something about both themselves and their world of 1960's Hollywood, America. Rated M for harsh language, offensive ethnic slurs, and implied sexual abuse. Requested by retro mania.
1. These Precious Few

**(A/N: I believe a little backstory to this tale is in order. First off, this type of story is way out of my league. I do not usually write stories like this but a Fan Fiction reader came to me and wanted to know if I would do a story like this based on a Twilight Zone episode called Person Or Persons Unknown. They wanted the added racial swap and a couple - not just one person. The real reason I agreed to this was because this was so out of my norm that I wanted to see if I could really do it, and make it enjoyable. I leave that up to you to figure out. As stated in the synopsis, there is a bit of foul language, implied sexual abuse, and extreme offensive ethnic slurs. I implore you that if any of that sounds detestable, please, do not read. Beyond that, I hope you find the story a good, original read and that you feel it honors and belongs within the Twilight Zone fandom.)**

* * *

 _(We all pretend that we know something about another. What it's like to slip into their shoes, work at their job, or raise their children. Then we take that perceived knowledge about them and share it with other people, perpetuating ignorance. Deborah and Daniel are two of these people with even less inhibitions than what most of us have. Last night they went out partying, and, last night, they went to bed, but this morning they woke up in not only a house that isn't their's anymore, but a skin that isn't theirs as well. They've just woken up in the Twilight Zone.)_

Opening her eyes, Deborah Steele felt a little peculiar. This didn't feel like the normal hangover, dealing with one of those almost every Monday morning from a Sunday night of partying. No, this felt more like a, _Oh my god, what the hell did I do last night_ hangover. (One she experienced twice a month.) She tried to remember as her brain was in a boxing match with her spinal cord. Her skin felt oily and her hair - _oh god_ \- her hair must have been a mess. It felt particularly frizzed with a kinked batch of follicles in her hand.

The only things she could remember was her, and her husband, dancing to Little Eva's newest hit, _The Locomotion_ , her getting drunk enough to hit on the butler; a silent colored guy, and making out with Charlie Baxter; her husband's boss down at the bank.

Feeling around for Daniel Steele, her dancing partner from last night, she found him still under the covers. She pushed him harshly, saying with a crack of her voice, "Come on, Dan, get up." She cleared her throat several times, hearing a particularly different voice than the one she was use to. This one sounded more deep and defined rather than her squeaky, supple, soft-toned voice.

Sitting up on the edge of her Queen-sized mattress, she yawned and stood up. Her legs felt unusual, too. Not unbalanced like normal, but defined and muscular, like she had run six miles last night for some odd reason. She smiled to herself, hobbling towards the restroom.

Grabbing onto the edge of the doorframe she began her morning ritual. _First-thing's-first,_ she thought, opening the mirror and popping a few pills. A presorted assortment of diet pills and pain reliever.

Closing the mirror back up she took a hold of her toothbrush and was going to squeeze out a squiggle line of toothpaste on the bristles had it not been for the amazing, gasping shock she got in the mirror. What stared back at her was not her reflection at all. Her blonde hair replaced by a coal black mane. Her milky white skin replaced by Hershey's chocolate flesh. Her petite, ruby red lips traded-in for ample, plump, brown pedals. Her sapphire crystal eyes gone, taken over by dark amber irises.

When she got her hand down from her mouth, successfully capturing the scream that nearly exited it, and finally moved out of her frozen terrified look, she patted every inch of her face, almost screaming again, "This can't be! This can't be. I'm not some _Negro_ , some colored Barbie! I'm white, I'm Debbie Steele."

As she stared at her dark reflection, she reasoned with herself and God, "Must have been because I was hitting on that Negro butler. Okay, God, you've had your laugh, no more tar-baby gags, I swear. I can wake up now. Go ahead, wake-up Miss. Steele."

A deep, cool voice came from the side of her, "Hmmm, but you are awake, dear."

Turning her gaze she _did_ scream at the colored man standing in front of her. His eyes closed, still half-asleep. Something told her that this was her husband, but that didn't keep her from being horrified at him having the same, drastic affliction. She began whimpering, "Oh God, no! No! Not you too, Dan!"

"What do you mean, 'Not me -'" Daniel's eyes were fully opened now and he growled at Deborah, "Who are you?!"

"I could ask you the same thing!"

"Where's my wife!"

"Daniel, I'm right here!"

He snickered. "The devil you say! _My_ wife is white!"

"So is _my_ husband! Look!" She nearly screamed, pointing to the mirror.

Nearly shoving her to the floor, Daniel whipped in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He staggered back in fright and looked at his "otherself" biting his knuckle, hard. He looked at a black man who reminded him of a young Joe Brown. Not as built, stockier, and without a championship belt around his waist. Looking back at Deborah, Daniel whimpered out, "What… how - how did this happen?"

She shook her head vigorously. "I don't know, Dan! I really don't know, Dan," she kept repeating his name over and over, trying to remind herself that this Negro man was really her husband.

"Alright, alright, it'll be all right," Dan said as he went to hug his wife but recoiled at her new visage and her at him as well.

"We need to find some help," Deborah said.

Daniel went back to gazing at his alien features in the mirror again, stroking his chin like a chipped, malformed piece of rock. He looked at his entire body like it was made out of molded bread.

Deborah then asked, "Do you know of anybody…"

"Call Dr. Claymore," Dan said, waving Deborah off like an annoying insect.

She was a bit hurt by this but that was thrown aside for a new hope.

Dr. Claymore had been their physician for years. Almost a decade. He had seen a lot with the two. From Dan's ass wrinkles and slight bruises and scraps from his "rages," to Deborah's left side-boob mole and color of her nausea from a _real_ hangover.

Rushing over to her black rotor phone, she dialed his number. Her fingers shook in each slot, trying hard to get over the idea that this was _her_ hand touching _her_ phone, and not some devious Negro trying to steal it. She held the receiver close to her ear and waited.

Two rings until she got an answer.

A strong, formal, _white_ man's voice answered the phone. "Dr. Claymore."

She sighed, relieved he was in. "Dr. Claymore, this is Debbie, it's really bad."

A pregnant, deafening pause hung in the air. The phone buzzed strongly with white noise.

"I'm sorry, are you a patient of mine?"

" _Yes_ ," Deborah screamed into the receiver. "This is Deborah Steele! Doctor, something terrible has happened!"

"I only see constant patients of mine. If you would like to make an appointment, then…"

"God damn it, doc, this is Deborah Steele! You've seen me and my husband for years! You gave him his physical just 3 months ago!"

"And what is your husband's name?"

"Daniel Steele! Doctor, what sort of sick game is this?!"

"I could ask you the same question. Let me get your files."

Deborah held on the line like a kid waiting for the radio to pop off with a contestant winner, substitute giddiness with fear. She held the black piece of plastic tightly to her ear. Both hands firmly tightened around the handle as she waited anxiously.

After a long, tense, scary minute, Dr. Claymore came on. "Miss, I don't have you or your husband on file."

Her heart sunk like the Hindenburg. A beating, flaming disaster. She sunk onto her bed, nearly dropping the phone. With great effort, Deborah put the phone back to her ear and calmly, but shakily, said, "Look here, _you quack_ , I remember Daniel going in for a check-up. Even if you don't have our files anymore, surely, you must remember - _us?_! The check-up three months ago, the case of dry-heaving I had a year ago from Stan's party, the cut knuckles you stitched up the night Dan punched the table. I remember! It was twenty-nine stitches! _Twenty-nine_ ," She repeated like a final amen to a prayer that she thought would jog the doctor's memory.

"Ma'am, calm down," Claymore said in an unfriendly, threatening tone. "There is no need to shout."

"There's plenty of reason to shout! I'm Deborah Steele, _damn it_! Doesn't that mean anything to anyone in this _tinsel-town_ anymore!"

"Ma'am, I'm hanging up, I suggest you seek mental help." With that, the line went dead and the only thing Miss Steele could hear now was the constant, irritating, hellish noise of the dial tone.

Aghast, she plunked the receiver back on the cradle slowly, now feeling that there was much more that had changed than just her skin tone when she had woken up this morning. Before, a feeling of self-terror had overcome her. Now, what took its place, was a shadowing feeling of foreboding. It felt like the whole world had changed colors, not just her.

Daniel had finally exited the bathroom, brushing his teeth, (Trying to get a feeling of normalcy back, Deborah thought.) and asked her, "So, what did he say?"

She sneered with a guff of disbelieve, "He said he didn't have us on file."

" _What?!_ " Daniel nearly yelled, a glob of toothpaste shooting from his mouth.

Deborah could only shrug. "It's what he said."

Nearly throwing his toothbrush back into the bathroom, looking like an enraged rabid rottweiler, Daniel grabbed the whole phone up from the small dresser it lay on, and dialed the doctor back.

He picked up the same way. Two dial tones and then, "Doctor Claymore."

"What is this?! I don't think this is very funny!"

"Excuse me," The doctor asked back, his voice brazen, strong, and totally confused.

"You are not, of that I can assure you! What is this nonsense you told my wife, 'not having our files?'"

A long deep pause.

"Sir, if you call this number again, I'm going to call the police." His tone stern and unflinching.

" _Sir_?' Doc, you know me."

"Good day, _sir_!" A heavy click followed and a long dial tone succeeded that.

For a drawn-out second, Deborah thought Daniel was going to do the same, let the phone slip from his fingertips and hang it up, aghast. She had been married to him for so long, and knew of his temper, she should have known better.

He sprang to life with a loud yell of, " _God damn it_!" and chucked the whole phone through the bedroom window. The heavy, black, plastic brick smashed through the glass, careening into a flower bed with tons of broken glass and plaster. The window itself was left a shambles with bits of jagged glass sticking out of the corners. The before-noon air breezed into the house through the smashed window.

Deborah shrieked in terror and tried to calm Daniel down afterwards but he just pushed her away, snarling to himself. Still in his sleepwear, he marched straight for the living room with her quickly behind. She had her hands up in defensive, little fists, asking, "Where are you going? Daniel, baby, what are you doing? I don't think there's anyone who can help us." Deborah held her nightgown close to her bodice and tried to keep up with her outraged husband.

Ignoring her, he stomped outside and began waving at the first neighbor he saw who was startled by the crash. He waved over at him, "Hey, Ernie!"

Ernie was their neighbor caddy-cornered across the street to their right. He had come out in his bathrobe with an unplugged hairdryer. He was a short, chubby man with pale white skin and apple green eyes. His hair was a wet, short-bristled mop on top and small, circular-framed glasses. His pointy mouth was agape and he seemed to be flabbergasted at what he heard and saw.

At first sight of seeing Daniel wave at him, he tripped over himself to get back inside, slamming the front door to his house. He was already calling the police but little did he (or Daniel) know that the neighbor straight across from the residence was already on the phone with law enforcement.

Daniel just grunted with confusion. " _We need help_!" Daniel screamed as loud as he could.

Exiting out of their two story home came Deborah. She, at first, was stricken blind by the California sunshine. The first thing she did notice was that her skin didn't feel quite as hot as it usually did. Her white skin would burn in the sun for too long but this _new skin_ seemed to hold up much better to the blistering rays. It was almost like she had on the ultimate sun screen.

When her eyes finally adjusted, she could make out her neighborhood. The fenced in trees, the nice homes, the beautiful lawns. The protected feeling she got from being in a gated community in Hollywood. She didn't know it yet but this would be the last time, in a long time, she would ever see or feel this way again.


	2. It's A Hard-Knock Life For Us

After about a minute or two, Daniel had calmed down and Deborah had sat down with him in front of their front door, pondering about their situation. They tried, in their own ways, to figure out what they had done to deserve this, or what could be done about it. They thought about calling anybody they could. Their parents, their coworkers, the police, another doctor - _anybody_. Their parents wouldn't work because Deborah doubted her parents would have given two laborious cares about her, and Daniel's parents were dead. Their coworkers wouldn't even recognize them and Daniel nor Deborah wanted to go through that pain again like they did with the doctor. The most logical option was another doctor but they wondered if any doctor in the area would see them solely on their looks.

"Sorry about the phone," Daniel finally said to Deborah.

She looked at him with a forced smile. "It's okay. It'd be nice if they were smaller and you could fit them anywhere."

Daniel chuckled a tiny amount over the idea of a _portable_ phone. "Yeah, maybe those I couldn't break."

It was about this time they heard sirens. Police sirens.

"Oh, thank God, it's the police," Dan said joyously, springing up.

Deborah wasn't thrilled at all. In fact, she was downright mortified. She clung to Daniel's leg and squeaked out, "Dan, honey, haven't you ever read what police do to colored people?!"

Dan just dismissed her with a, "Nonsense." He further went on, "After we carefully explain the situation to them, they will be willing to help us."

Everything in Deborah told her this would not be the case. It took all her love for her husband, which was a lot, to keep her glued to the cement stoop and not bolt out of there like a wanton criminal.

When she saw the first glimpses of red and blue flashes, she jumped up with her husband and grabbed his arm, petrified at the sight. She had never felt this way before when she saw the police. It was like she was watching the coming of the apocalypse. The red and blue lights ushers of destruction. Looking up at Daniel's smiling face, she couldn't help but smile, too. Even though she thought he was absolutely foolish.

The _black- &-white _rolled up to the house quickly, stopping with a screech of the breaks. Daniel approached them with a big wave, starting to walk up to them like a family member had just stopped by for a visit. He was about to get a serious wake-up call.

The two police officers jumped out of the car with their .38's pointed right at him. The one from the driver side yelled at Daniel, "Get down, _nigger_ , or I'll put you down!"

"Whoa, hey, wait-a-minute! I just want to…"

"Nigger, he said get down!" the other yelled, also with his gun pointed.

"Oh god, Danny, do what they say!"

Rather than act on instinct and keep walking, Daniel raised his hands and got down on the sidewalk. He laid flat on his stomach and put his hands over his head. He had seen an episode or two of Dragnet.

The two officers closed the gap between themselves as the driver walked around and stood next to his partner. The older of the two had short-cropped blonde hair under his cap and stern blue eyes. They were hidden under a pair of reflective shades with a tattoo on his neck that was also hidden, it was from his time in Korea.

His partner was nearly ten years younger than him and had auburn-colored hair. He looked more inexperienced and confused on what to do. Although, the look of anger was unmistakable.

When Daniel was down, still trying to explain his odd situation, the two officers circled him and the older blonde was the first to holster his gun in-place of a nightstick. The other younger officer took a look at Deborah and licked his lips vilely.

Deborah had seen that look before on a man. Before, she had reveled in it, having gotten that look at party-after-party. It meant that she was about to get a nice dance and a stiff drink at the other's behalf. Now, she was sickened by it. She couldn't yet explain why but she was going to find out.

Meanwhile, the older blonde had already hit Daniel twice with his nightstick. Two, hard cracking _thuds_ right on the back of his skull. Enough to make Daniel growl and try to stand up but he was knocked back down on his stomach by gravity. His head felt like it weighed a thousand tons with a painful vise that squeezed into his brain in the shape of a sharp-clawed spider.

As Daniel tunnel-crawled towards the police car, the blonde officer hissed, "Where are you going, _nigger_?"

Daniel barely heard the officer. He was trying to get to some imaginary objective. Sit himself up, try to reason, get some air, call for back-up - _something_. Anything to fix this pain in the back of his head. That was when he stopped because a bomb had just gone off in his back. Actually it was another stroke from the nightstick. It had nailed him in his lower back. Both of his legs went numb and he lost all control of his arms. He just laid there, hapless, looking around for some kind of aid. Someone to help him but no one was there. Deborah was long gone by this point and all Daniel could do was lay there in agony, wondering if he was going to be hit again.

He was.

This time a hard, bruising, _crack_ came from his right shoulder. He rolled over in torrential pain. Unlike the last few times he had been hit - dull shots that had damaging effects - this time it felt like a big drill had stabbed him right through the shoulder, boring a hole right through his arm. He grabbed at his shoulder and let out a loud scream. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face. He had been in severe pain before and been quite angry during it, but nothing like this. He felt like he could have been seeing red and enveloped in superhuman rage, and that shoulder bash he received still would have put him down.

The blonde cop picked him up by his short hair and shoved him up against the cruiser, spreading his legs, knocking the stick into his ribs which made Daniel nearly collapse back to the cement. The cop kept him stable though, hauling him up by his clothes. Held up by the strength of the abusive officer, Daniel could have dropped and fallen asleep for years but he had more pain on the way.

First, his wrists were wrenched behind him and he felt a constrictive pain rip into them. The cold steel of the cuffs dug into his skin. He wasn't sure but he felt a warm, stinging sensation wrap them. Completely unable to tell if they were bleeding or not, Dan just gritted his teeth with a breathe of pain and confusion. Next, he was chucked - head first - into the back of the car and hit his head on one of the crash rails. He groaned in extreme pain as he tried to lay comfortably in the back seat.

Even the closing of the front, driver-side door was painful to him. Not able to make out any objects; just a collage of colors, he was sure the blonde officer was back in the car. He heard from the front, "Damn, I got your blood all over me. Why do _you people_ always have to bleed everywhere?"

Daniel went to speak but his whole body was racked in pain. His ribs felt like a spear was jabbed in, his back a throbbing lightning rod, his head a pulsating dome with two rocks slamming his brain. Worst of all was that he had lost track of his wife. Trying once more to speak, all that came out was mumbled bits of disjointed prattle that may have sounded like words to him, but probably came out like muffled babble.

A strong, firm, " _Shut-up_!" came from the front seat. "We just have to wait for him to finish up with that Negro bitch of yours and then we'll be on our way."

Growling was the only thing Daniel could muster. Thoughts of what he would do if the officer hadn't caught him off guard with a nightstick, stripped of his gun and his cuffs rushed through his head. Just mano-a-mano. He would teach him a thing or two. Like how his fists were hammers of justice. Daniel had been in fights before and won every one of them. Not this one. Of course, this hadn't been a fight. This was just an unfair beat down where none of it should have happened. It wouldn't be until way later that Daniel would wonder why the officer wasn't listening to him.

Another car door slammed and it seemed to be his partner. He sat in the front with a smug, proud smile.

"So," his older, blonde counterpart asked; "did you ride her good?"

"Like a beaten pony."

Daniel would have done anything at this time but all he could do was picture this white, rebellious hooligan with a badge raping his wife and tears began to stream again. He cried himself right into unconsciousness.


	3. Riches To Rags

When Deborah saw her husband first get hit by the blonde-haired officer, she gasped but her attention was quickly deterred by the approaching young, vile, ne'er-do-well cop. That sick look still on his face as he came closer and closer. She wanted to go help Daniel but she knew she'd be caught, and she didn't want to be caught.

Whispering softly to her love, she cried out, "I'm sorry, honey."

She then took off running behind her house. The young officer followed right behind her, sprinting her down. Deborah hopped over a low white fence that cordoned off their backyard from others, running across another's. The determined policeman hopped right over it, too, keeping just three steps behind her. The two ran across the green grass savanna, the blue lion after its colored gazelle prey.

Deborah was surprised by her ability to run. She felt like she would never run out of energy. She had kept fit before with walks and jogs, but this felt like she had been running across the city and back to get this kind of pique conditioning. Not sure what had given her this boost, but at this point, she was thankful for it.

It still wasn't enough though as she crossed her sixth backyard and the cop tackled her to ground. She careened into the grass and yelped with fear. Flipping over on her back, pushing her attacker away, she screamed, "Help! Help me!"

She looked around to see if anyone was seeing this and saw several people looking on. All white, all dismissive. They closed their curtains and turned away. Like her husband, she was all alone.

The cop groaned and grunted as he struggled with her hands. He actually got a good grasp on her gown and nearly ripped it off, screaming down at her, " _Goddamn it, nigger bitch!_ "

That was when Deborah got a timely, mighty hard slap in on the white cop. He faltered to the ground and began to whine a bit. Deborah wasn't sure if she had surprised him or hurt him? Either way, she was going to take this opportunity and run. She got back to her feet and dashed off, running as fast as she could on her _new legs_.

Dashing into the road, she was nearly gobbled up by a 1953 Buick Roadmaster, making her collapse in fear, gasping at the sky-blue, chrome-toothed monstrosity. It's engine revved at her like a mad beast and made her scamper to her feet, running away from the automotive horror. She glanced back as the car drove off with an old, rich looking white man in the driver seat, clad in a black fedora and a silver mustache.

"Mr. Gaunt?" Deborah questioned.

The wounded _fuzz_ was still far behind her. She kept running. Her legs still full of energy.

She reached the main gate and climbed over it and out of the community her and Daniel had spent many wondrous, drunken, uninhibited nights together. She looked back and didn't see the officer coming after her. More than that, she was wondering if this would be the last time she would ever see the gated suburbs again.

Slowly starting to run again, Deborah sprinted in a random direction. She had no idea where she was going, or how she was going to get there, but anywhere had to be better than this nightmare her life had turned into - or, so she thought.

After about a couple of miles, and some sorrowful glances at expensive houses that reminded her of the one she abandoned, she now found herself in a part of the city she knew all too well. The business district. Lumbering, tall, white buildings surrounded her.

They gawked down at her like chalk-skinned sentinels, whereas before they had been part of the background, now, they seemed to stare at her. Ready to vomit milky white on her, threatening to turn her back to her previous self. She didn't know why she was so scared of that, but she was. Trying to boldly walk on, she began to slow and get the shivers. Not only did the buildings seem to leer at her, but so did the people. _White_ , well-fed, ostentatious people. They snapped glances at her, shocked she was walking amongst them. Others looked at her with hateful, vile, judgmental glares from burning eyes of deceit and prejudice. In fact, Deborah wondered what stopped them from pulling her off the sidewalk and beating her into a bloody pulp. She supposed that they figured it wasn't worth it, going through the hassle of getting a slap on the wrist from law enforcement.

If it wasn't for her recognizing a quasi-diner across the way, she still would have been lost in the sea of discrimination. The eatery was one that her and Daniel had gone to every once and awhile. It was a small building that was made up to look like a small town diner on the outside, but on the inside it was a pricey façade that served vegetarian burgers and small amounts of steaks. It was a high-class restaurant for the food _connoisseur_ that wished for a more _low-budget_ experience with a bill they were use to.

Deborah smiled, knowing what was just a block down the road, caddy-cornered to it: Daniel's bank. She ran for it with a feeling of safety growing inside of her. It only blossomed when she finally saw the sign. The parking lot with the golden sign, welcoming everyone to: _Harloett & Babel Banking_

It really was a sight for sore eyes.

She crossed the parking lot with a few cars parked. A blue Bentley which she recognized as Shirley's. She was the branch manger's secretary. A humble, good-natured blonde with daddy's, her husband's, and the branch manger's money to blow.

Next to it was a deep red Chrysler Imperial. That had to be Brock Hadler's. The branch's one-of-two loan specialists. He was a man with fine tastes and deep pockets. (There was usually money in there somewhere.)

Next to that was a sport's car she remembered very well. That hunter-green Ford Thunderbird convertible with white-wall tires and chrome-lined fins was hard to miss. The branch manger's, Charlie Baxter. (There were some others parked in the back, but she figured those were mostly customers.)

Charlie would help her. He had to. She had nowhere else to go. He was the last man on Earth that could possibly do anything to aid her.

Before walking into the bank, Deborah fixed her hair - what she could - and composed herself. She strode into the bank through the front doors like she owned the place. Something she had done a hundred times before. The familiar mahogany met her, shined to an almost reflective surface, columns on either side towered to the right and left of her. The bank teller cages were only twenty feet away with the smell of lemon scented cleaner that wafted through the building.

To her immediate right was a security guard. (There were usually two of them. It was low hours so only one was needed.) A pudgy, elderly gentlemen also by the name of Charlie. All Deborah knew about him was that he had been in the army during WW1 and had served with a company of riflemen during that time. He had a wife he wasn't too fond of talking about with two kids.

She walked right past him with a, "Hey, Charlie."

He awkwardly waved at her, wondering where he knew this colored lady from. She wasn't a bad looking sort, rather attractive, all things considered.

"How's the wife and kids?" Deborah nonchalantly tacked on.

Blinking with utter confusion that she seemed to know him somehow, Charlie got up and tried to follow her discreetly.

Deborah knew she was being followed but she shrugged it off, what she could of it. This wasn't the first time a white man in uniform had followed her today.

As she walked, she crossed by two offices. One was a nice looking office with a well-built blonde man that looked like he could tear out of his suit if he wanted to. This was Brock Hadler. She thought about asking him for help but he wouldn't understand, not like Charlie was going to be any different, but he was a better friend and a more serious person under pressure.

The other office was small and crammed to the walls with paperwork. A tired, young blonde was at the desk in a red business suit. She was bent over her desk with a pencil going 90 miles-per-hour. She looked extraordinarily busy and transfixed on her work. Tabitha Lockner. Deborah had heard all the other guys around the bank call her "Tabby." It sounded more like an insult than a friendly pet name, and she wasn't sure why. What she did know was that she tried not to associate with her since Tabby was the bank's pariah. Tabby had said "hi" to her a few times, but to stay on the good side of the bank, she had dismissed her with a few mean words every time.

Going through a small gate, Deborah headed right for Charlie Baxter's office. She made a b-line for it, not talking to anyone. She heard from behind her the older, gruffer, security guard Charlie yell, "Hey, miss, you aren't allowed back there!"

She ignored him and kept going, quickening her pace. She met Shirley on her way and nearly pushed her over as the built, sexy, blonde bombshell screamed, "My god, a Negro!"

Debora wanted to just turn around and slap her and yell, _It's me, Deborah, you damn fool! Daniel's wife!_ She couldn't be misguided by petty things like that though.

What did stop her though was something frightening and surreal.

Daniel had his own office right next to Charlie Baxter's and in Daniel's office was a man sitting at his desk - doing his work - associate managing the bank. Slowly walking now, Deborah approached the office, gawking at the name on the door. The name that should read, Daniel Steele. Instead, it read: _Timothy Higgins._ It was in bold lettering and underneath it: _Associate Branch Manger_.

Deborah swallowed hard and opened the door with a gasp.

A redhead in a suit, much like the one Daniel wore to work, stood up with a mean grimace on his face, harshly asking in a mellow Irish accent, "Excuse me, _colored girl_ , what are you doing in my office?"

Swallowing down another gasp, Deborah put her hand to her chest. "Excuse me, ' _your office_?' This is _my_ husband's office!"

That was when Charlie Baxter had come in with the other Charlie. The two stood there with confused, nasty looks. Security guard Charlie already had his two-way out and was probably on the line to the police. After an uncomfortable half-a-minute of the four standing there in stone-silence, Charlie Baxter asked, "Okay, what's all this then?"

The redhead named Timothy waved at Deborah, "This… _colored lady_ seems to be confused. She said this was her husband's office."

Deborah looked back at Charlie in his expensive garb like Pharaoh - and she was a pleading slave. "Charlie… you know this is Dan's office."

"Who?"

Snapping quickly from pleading slave to irate wife, Deborah clawed at the air in anger. " _Daniel Steele_! Your partner for nearly four years now! Branch manger for six!"

"Young lady," Charlie said dismissively, calmly, and without a note of sympathy; "Timothy Higgins here has been this branch's manger for exactly that long."

"No, Charlie, don't - don't do this to me. To _us_. Remember the party last night?! How you were kissing me all over?!"

Charlie let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "I would never kiss a Negro, no matter how good she looked."

"You were saying how good I looked in my dress! You…" Deborah stuttered a bit, trying to think of something, anything to jog his memory. "You…" Nothing came to her.

"Listen lady, I don't…"

Then it popped to Deborah. She grabbed Charlie by his suit collar and yelled, "You live on Primrose Avenue, 1232! You bought the house when you moved down here from New York, 4 years ago! You took this job because you couldn't stomach being in New York anymore and working with so many 'chinks' and 'wops.'"

If Charlie could have gotten any whiter, he would have. He edged over to the other Charlie, who already seemed to have his pistol drawn, and asked, frightened, "Tell me you have already radioed the police?"

Older Charlie replied with an emphatic, " _Yes_."

Deborah let him go and looked over at the older Charlie. She gasped and swallowed, hard. Backing away a few steps, Deborah stuttered with whatever ammo she had left. "You're wife's name is - is Donna. She always wanted to be an - an artist. She showed me her small gallery in your house. You have a - a son getting ready to - to graduate high school!"

He was having none of it. Even though he was starting to fear her more and more, he ignored all of it. Trying to show no fear, Charlie just balked, "You probably broke into my house just to make it seem like all your telling me isn't malarkey."

"Why would I break into a house and then not steal _anything_?!"

"So you admit it?!"

Deborah was getting nowhere fast. She felt like she was caught in a flood with the water steadily rising. Soon she would drown. The cops would be there any second and she wouldn't be able to run from them this time.

She could run now though, and run she did. Dodging out past both Charlie's, she rushed out of the bank and was now completely lost. Would she have to… _steal a car_?! She hated the thought. It made her stomach turn over more than it already had. The loud wail of police sirens were already fast approaching. The wail of the black-and-whites down the street caused Deborah to claw at her ears to stop the infernal noise with a whimper of helplessness. She choked back a rough heave and ran.

Not watching where she was going, she slammed into a vehicle in the opposite end of the bank's parking lot. A lime green, 40-something Plymouth coupe. It was in disrepair and looked like it had seen some raunchy, home-remedy mechanics. She was barreled-over the wheel-well and looked inside. There, behind the wheel, was Tabitha Lockner. The frazzled, tired blonde got out of her car, the door creaking as she did, asking, "Ma'am, are you all right?"

Deborah was desperate for an escape. Anything. This blonde, _white_ woman was her only hope. Deborah grabbed her by the arm and begged, "Yes! Please, they're after me!"

At first, Tabitha backed away and tried to rescue her arm from the clutches of the wild, colored lady but then she heard the sirens. Tabitha looked back in Deborah's eyes and saw the desperation. A woman with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Barred down on by vicious men that probably wanted to hurt her in the worst way. _Just like me ten years ago_ , she thought.

Running to the passenger side of the coupe, Tabitha motioned to Deborah, "Get in."

Deborah didn't have to be told twice. She hopped inside the car as Tabitha slammed the door and took off in her car, after having to turn over the engine three times, they were finally off just as the police cars arrived. All policelooked like they were about to fend off a rabid militia rather than arrest some confused, distraught woman. Most armed with pistols and shotguns while a select few carried Browning automatic rifles.

Deborah breathed a sigh of relief inside the car as she watched the thin palm trees pass her by.


	4. The Greybar Chapel

Slammed into the front desk in the police station, chest first, Daniel groaned with pain as the two officers behind him mockingly said, "Got another one of _these_ for the can."

The policeman at the front desk smirked at the colored man before him. "What did he do?"

"Eh, B&E, disturbing the peace, resisting arrest - the usual."

The front desk officer opened a manila folder and asked the usual question of Daniel: Name, address, birth date. A cool, bored tone with each one word question. Daniel again tried to explain his situation, but it seemed the front desk cop was having none of it. He just stamped the paper and handed it to the arresting officers with an apathetic, "Put him in can C."

They took the folder and mundanely answered back, "Right."

Tugging at Daniel's arm and back, the two cops dragged him off. They gave him the full criminal treatment. He got his picture taken with his ID number held underneath him, his fingerprints taken, added to the paperwork in his folder, and they even took a sample of his voice saying a particular phrase, "I don't have the tickets for the railroad." Daniel figured this was for voice comparison in court for something or other.

After that, it was around then they took him to "can C." Daniel crossed two other holding cells with at least 5 or more people in each. It wasn't until they got to the last one that Daniel saw at least 12 or more people in the cell. Most of them were colored. There were a few Hispanic looking men, but not one was white.

They threw Daniel in there and slammed the gate home, locking him in there with rough looking men. Daniel wouldn't admit it but he was frightened. Swallowing hard, Daniel stood up and looked around. A few men stood out to him. One was a well-dressed colored man in the left-hand corner. He was chewing on a toothpick and hid his face under a colorful, wide-brim hat. Another was a big mountain of a man in a white button-up shirt and blue jeans. He had a completely shaven head and stared at Daniel inquisitively. (Daniel tried his best to avoid him.) The other was a skinny, lean man opposite him. He was in a torn grey shit with dirty maroon sweats. There was some white foam around his lips and his skin was blotched with dark dirt. Daniel could tell he was on something. The last man that caught his attention was a stern-looking, middle-aged man with a black jacket and black dress pants. He looked like a religious man that was falsely imprisoned. He was sitting on a small bench that looked like it had just enough room for another person. Daniel quickly approached the man and pointed down at the bench. "Mind if I sit here?"

The man edged a look at Daniel. An interesting look that Daniel couldn't figure out what he was thinking. It was forlorn, yet humble. Almost like the man was trying to be warm, but just came off as tepid.

Finally he edge out a, "You can if you wish, brother." His voice was cool, educated, and ethereal.

Daniel did as he was invited to. He sat down slowly and the man next to him said, " _Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body._ Hebrews - 13:3."

Daniel looked around as if he was speaking to somebody else. Then Daniel asked, "Me?"

"All," the man replied, staring at the wall across from Daniel and him. "All should remember it."

Daniel was now wondering if the man was drugged or insane.

He spoke again, quoting scripture, " _They put him in custody, therefore t'was not clear what should be done unto him._ Numbers - 15:34."

Daniel said with a heavy heart and a bit of reproach, "I haven't read The Bible in some time."

The man looked at Daniel much like a sorry neighbor. He extended his hand and introduced himself. "Ezekiel Rancast."

Daniel took his hand and shook it. "Daniel Steele."

"Good name. Strong. What brings you here this day, brother Daniel?"

"They said they caught me breaking-and-entering my own house - and resisting arrest."

Smiling, Ezekiel sarcastically said, "Yes, they love _nailing_ that one on there, don't they?"

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. It was my own house it's just - just…" Daniel was looking for the right words to say to describe what had happened to him this morning and found none.

"It's alright, brother, we all have been wronged in the name of 'white man's justice.' He _believes_ his laws are that of God's."

"Doesn't it say somewhere in there that 'whatever is law on Earth is law in Heaven?'"

"Indeed it does, Daniel, but those laws established on Earth become null-and-void when they do not correspond with what He has set forth beforehand."

Sighing, Daniel wondered out loud, "I wonder what _He_ thinks about my current situation. Probably a lesson for _something._ "

"He teaches us everyday, brother. We never stop learning from Him."

Looking back at Ezekiel, Daniel asked, "He has a weird way of teaching."

Ezekiel smiled. "The Lord works in mysterious ways."

Looking around, seeing the distraught, forlorn faces, Daniel asked, "How can _they_ do this?" referring to the cops.

"Do you refer to the white man?"

Daniel nodded silently.

"It's easy to hate. That's why they do it, don't let yourself be driven by it."

Suddenly a voice in front of the two chimed in. A broad, thick, deep voice that sounded menacing and malicious. "Hate drives many things. It's the opposite of passion. It can move mountains!" It was the large colored man. He had his arms crossed and his face twisted in a sneer. If his eyes could have been anymore intense, Daniel thought laser beams would shoot out of them.

Ezekiel, in that same cool tone, responded, "So can faith."

"I have faith in hate."

Ezekiel frowned and said sadly, "Then you have faith in nothing."

Daniel just listened to the two. He stayed silent. Any other time he would have spoken out. He remembered plenty of times when he had been at a party or get-together, and heard some "religious buffoons," as he called them; prattle on about the existence of some "all-seeing father." He would just turn his nose up at them and think of a clever limerick or rude notation - possibly a play-on of some Bible verse he could barely remember. This time, however, he kept as quiet as possible.

Ezekiel turned towards Daniel and asked if he believed in hate, too.

Daniel thought long and hard about his answer. He looked at the two colored men and said, thinking back to how he had felt about coloreds, "I use to believe in shame. But… not anymore."

Ezekiel smiled. "Shame, used in a proper way, can be a powerful teaching tool."

"Hate can, too." The big man hissed.

Ezekiel shook his head, "Violence towards another can only teach one thing: violence."

"How did you get here, Ezekiel?" Daniel finally asked.

Biting his bottom lip, a streak of shame crossed his face. "I …" He had a hard time getting started. "I wanted to break a boundary. I walked into a _white man's_ bank. I thought… I thought if I went in there with an open mind, everything would be fine." A sigh escaped Ezekiel as he continued. "I walked to the first person I could find. A red-headed banker who flat out rejected me, and screamed that I had attacked him when he refused me an account."

Daniel had to ask, "Did you?"

The big man just gave him a sideways glare.

Ezekiel answered anyway. "I never touched him. Physically or spiritually."

Daniel hated to be a naysayer but he persisted. "Come on, people don't just call the police and lie to them about something like that."

"Oh yes they do!" The big colored man growled. "Who's side you on?"

Ezekiel held out his hand like a peaceful negotiator, wanting the big, mad prisoner to put his weapon down. " _And you will be hated by all for my name's sake. But the one who endures to the end will be saved._ Matthew 10:22."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that if you believe that peace can work, you will see it will."

Daniel laid down on the bench and closed his eyes. "I just want to go home."

"As do we all, dear brother Daniel, as do we all. But you mustn't give up hope now."

"Why?" Daniel asked.

A knowing smile again crossed Ezekiel's face. "Do you know the meaning of your name?"

A pregnant sigh escaped Daniel's lips. "It means 'The Judged.'"

"By God Himself. Trust in him, Daniel. I do."

"Yeah, and look where it got you - behind bars."

"Bars made of hate. A very poor construct to hold the Word Of God."

Turning towards Ezekiel, Daniel asked angrily, "What has He _ever_ done for you?"

"He gave me life. What more is there?"

"Your mother gave you life, wherever she is. You should give more thanks to her than _God_."

"I do give thanks to her. Even though she gave me to the streets as a baby. Just like the mother of Moses hoping that God would guide him, so to did He guide me to my fruitful life. True, it hasn't been as lavish as Moses' but then again, when He calls me to service, I don't have that much to give up - unlike Moses did. I am thankful for that."

Daniel shook his head. "That makes no sense. Thanking your supposed _loving God_ for not giving you a good life because you might have to give all that up to serve _His_ will?"

"God doesn't make much sense to most. I don't think He's suppose to. Describing the mind of God would be like trying to describe an ant to an ant. It doesn't understand what makes it, it just… is."

Daniel shook his head, turning from Ezekiel. "I'm getting some sleep."

A chuckle came from Ezekiel, one of empathy. "Goodnight, brother. _Consider what I say; and the Lord give thee understanding in all things. Remember that Jesus Christ of the seed of David was raised from the dead according to my gospel: Wherein I suffer trouble, as an evil doer, even unto bonds; but the word of God is not bound. Therefore I endure all things for the elect's sakes, that they may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory._ Amen. 2nd Timothy 2:7-10."


	5. Skin Deep

The industrial green Plymouth stayed on a straightaway for nearly three hours until making a few turns. Deborah watched as the pristine, white stone buildings of rich business and elegant glamour, changed to rundown, dilapidated homes that were shaded by a forgotten overpass, and hidden in a shaded nook behind The Hills. The palm trees gave way to streetlights casting an ominous orange glow on the beaten-up sidewalks. A few more turns and Tabitha pulled into a driveway.

The setting California sun dipped into the left crevice of The Hills, it painted the sky with dark blues and turquoise beads. The stars all but faded except for the brightest ones. A blood covered sword lay across the horizon, slowly slipping away with the sun.

Tabitha got out first and was happily greeted by two things: her dog; which seemed to be a golden retriever of young age, (1 maybe 2 years old.) and by her daughter. A perky, giddy, bright-smiled thing. Both of them nearly knocked Tabitha over as she bent down and greeted both with a tight, loving hug, saying wonderful things to both of them.

Deborah couldn't see her daughter too well, but she looked… _colored. But, Tabby's white. This doesn't make a lick of sense,_ Deborah thought. Ignoring it, she finally got out and it was Tabitha's daughter who greeted her first - and not in the same childish manner she did her mother.

"Who's this?" The girl asked, defensively, suspiciously, and, worst of all - angrily.

Tabitha was quick to scolded her daughter. "Justine!" Her mother barked. "We do not greet guest like that in this house!"

"But mother, she's not in the house yet." Justine gave Deborah another sneering look. "And she's a Negro!"

" _Justine_!" Her mother yelled. "That'll be quite enough! She's still a lady, and you are to treat her as such. You don't like it when the kids at school call you names, do you?!"

Justine looked at her mother. "But all the kids that make fun of me are Negros!"

"So, do you want to be like them?!"

A long, frustrated sigh came from Justine, "No!" She turned back to Deborah and growled, "It's nice to meet you, miss!"

Deborah tried to be polite. "It's nice to meet you, too."

Justine then turned away from Deborah, dismissively, and clapped the dog back inside, making it follow her into the house.

Tabitha smiled shyly and said, "She's a handful, isn't she?"

Deborah didn't say anything. She sent most of her concentration at the house. The shutters were lopsided, the lawn was cut too short, the roofing on the house looked about ready to cave-in, and the front door was completely missing. There was a screen door but it was dented and frayed. Deborah finally edged out, "You live _here?_ "

Tabitha looked at her house and asked, "Maybe I should take you back up town, and we can find a nice hotel or something for you to stay in?"

Deborah didn't know how to take that, but she shook her head, "No, no! It's fine."

Tabitha gave her a mean glare. "You sure?"

Nodding, Deborah looked away, ashamed.

With a harsh signal, Tabitha beckoned her, "Come on, I'll see if we still have my grandmother's quilt. She sewed it by hand. Word was it took her three years to finish it."

When the two women were standing in the living room, Deborah looked around and swallowed, a bit disgusted at what she saw. It looked like something out of _Better Homes & Gardens_ \- the penny-pincher edition. A couch sat to her left, worn from roughhousing and dog chewing. The carpet was in disrepair and in bad need of a change. Green dots littered the white walls were the paint was chipped. A small table lay off to the side next to a recliner. The table was small and cheap, but a few of Justine's things were neatly put on it. An assortment of coloring books, a box of crayons, and a chew toy. (The chew toy wasn't Justine's but the way it was sitting on the table, you'd swear that she played with it as much as any dog would have.) The recliner seemed a bit broken down and worn - but clean. That was the thing about all of Tabitha's stuff; including her child, a bit rough around the edges and in disrepair - but clean nonetheless.

Sitting down on the recliner, Tabitha let out a long exhale. Deborah went to sit on the middle cushion of the couch and Tabitha jumped up. "Don't sit there!"

Deborah stopped dead still.

"Sorry, the middle cushion kind of sinks and the springs aren't what they use to be. Sit on the other side."

Deborah looked at the right side and pointed.

"Yes, that's fine."

Pointing her butt to the far side of the couch, Deborah eased down on the cushion and heard the entire piece whine and groan at her weight.

"It's a comfy couch, but I don't know how long it's got."

Deborah turned her nose up at it and asked, "Why not just buy a new one?"

"Oh," Tabitha started, an air of anger to her tone, "And where, _pray tell_ , would I find a good couch to replace this one? Henkel-Harris, McMahan's, Wolf's?"

"Yeah, any one of them would be great!"

"Do you have any idea how much that stuff costs?"

Deborah shrugged, telling her casually, "Eight hundred - a thousand?"

"What planet are you from?! You think people can just go out and buy that kind of stuff?!"

"Well," Deborah thought for a second, "Yeah."

Tabitha laughed ironically and shook her head. "I don't know where you come from, lady, but I wish I could live there. That's not how it works here. If I want _anything_ , I have to work and work for it. Never see my daughter and only come home to sleep and go back again. Go back to a job where everybody _thinks_ they know what happened to me, and never look at me like a real woman ever again!" Tabitha's volume started to increase, and now she was yelling at Deborah. "Do you know what my kid has to put up with?! Do you know what _I_ have to put up with because of what they _think_ happened to me?!"

"What are you talking about?" Deborah asked, truly curious and confused.

Tabitha calmed down. "Yeah," She said, answering her own question; "how would you?"

She looked for Justine and the kid was nowhere to be found. She had disappeared with the dog in-toe. Tabitha hesitated with a second-glance at Deborah and asked, "If - If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

This made Deborah think back to plenty of times she had promised not to say anything to anybody when someone was spilling their darkest secrets. She always lied. She couldn't keep her tongue in her head, in more ways than one. She always had to blab to someone, even if it was just her husband. Daniel was just as big of a gossip-hound as she was. Despite this, Deborah made an extra effort to herself and to this woman who saved her, and tried to say with as much conviction as she could muster, "I promise."

Tabitha nodded and began her story. "This was when I first got to this city. I had stars in my eyes. You know the story: runaway from home, lost in the big city, wanting to be a singer - an actress - hit it big and have your name in lights. I was only about nineteen at the time. Unlike most of those dreamy starlets, I already had a job when I got down here and refused to live in a cardboard box before my 'career' took off."

It was then Tabitha's tone became less musing and more morose.

"It was a Friday. A typical Friday. I was working late at the café. Donny, the manger, he had kept me over two hours after my shift. I was already working 14-hour shifts at the time. I was the only girl he had who was old enough to work those many hours, legally - not like that stopped him from working the other girls to death. I was just the only one he could do it to and not get arrested for it. Not like anybody would go and tell. He had all of us scared pretty good, especially Kathy.

"Anyway, I headed out, and at the time, I couldn't drive so I was walking. The other, younger girls walked home earlier, together. Donny shut down and drove home. I walked. I always walked. I remember how my feet felt, they felt like dogs gnawing on them, even with the soft inserts I had made out of some paper and cotton, they still ached something fierce. There was an alleyway close by that would cut six blocks off walking time. I took it. I knew I shouldn't have! I knew, but like a weakling I did. I should have just toughed it out, pioneered through it.

"It was really dark and I couldn't see much. When - when _it_ happened. I didn't know what to think. I slammed on the ground and heard three different, yet, very similar sounding voices. All of them were colored me… m… boys." As if verbally filling out a police report, Tabitha went on. "One sounded older than the rest with the second sounding thrilled and the other nervous. The first, older sounding one was taller than the others. Serious looking eyes. I don't think they ever blinked. Not once. Just these ever-staring eyes like on a China doll, or something. The second, thrilled sounding one, was broad and had these bright, happy eyes. They always looked like they were on the verge of tears. Whether he was happy or sad, or _something_ , I don't know. He cried as he was the first one on top of me as the others held me down.

"I remember thinking if I screamed loud enough that someone would hear me. I only screamed for awhile before the older one whispered to me that if I kept screaming he'd cut my throat. I continued to scream anyway until I felt the switchblade at my neck.

"After they were… they were… _done_ with me, they slipped out of my life as abruptly as they had entered it. I must have laid there for hours. It was pitch black when they had thrown me down. It was a dark blue when I was able to stand.

"I did the only thing I could do. I walked home. My uniform was a mess. I remember feeling all this nasty stuff on my legs and on my apron.

"I wasn't living here at the time, I was living in an apartment building on 32nd Street. Don't know if you've ever been through there, but it was a poor neighborhood. Not corner-to-corner gangs and Mafiosoes like it is now. Back then if you kept to yourself, you'd never have to worry.

"I lived on the fourth floor of an apartment building, room 237. The first thing I heard was Knox barking. The little dog that lived with the old lady in Apartment 7. She always let him bark away at ungodly hours of the morning. That's how I knew it was at least 4 or 5 in the morning. There were these stone steps and a stoup. I had to crawl up those steps. My legs were trembling and my… my… _everything_ hurt. I walked through the door and wondered how in God's name I was going to make it up to my apartment.

"I don't remember the walk up, but I managed to get up there. All I remember is Keith, the young guy who lived in apartment 235, he helped me into my place. He said he would stay with me. Said I was in 'shock.' He kept asking what was wrong. I told him nothing, of course. I just remember at that point needing a shower, desperately. I kept telling him that, you know. 'I need a shower. Have to have a shower.' He agreed and called the police for me.

"Again, it's all just a blur how long I was in that shower. I learned later that I used up about 3 bars of soap. I _know_ what got me out. A policeman knocked on the bathroom door and asked if I would come out and talk to them. I did.

"You know, to tell you the truth, that was the worst part of it all. I'm not saying that those guys weren't bad, quite the opposite, I'm just saying that the worst part was the way the police were talking to me. Things like 'indecent exposure' and 'how I should have known better than to be dressed like that.' They asked me more personal questions than I would ever want to answer to anybody like, 'Why were you walking alone? Did it ever occur to you that wearing something so provocative might attracted the wrong kind of men? What color were they? You could have done more for yourself, couldn't you?' After awhile they sounded more like accusations they _tried_ to make sound like questions."

Tabitha laughed for a brief moment. "The sweetest thing about it was Keith. He was so mad and flustered at them. He talked more like my big brother than anything. He tried to stand-up to them, but there were at least three officers, all of them put them back in his place.

"When they left, Keith held me for awhile. I think he might have wanted me, but God bless him…" Tabitha broke down in tears at this point. She grabbed some tissues close by and hugged them to her face like a frightened child with its blanket. "He _never_ touched me like that! Never! I think he just - really - wanted to help." Her words were broken by sobs.

She composed herself as much as she could and continued on. "After that, I moved out of that neighborhood and found myself this house. A little after that, I found the job down at the bank, and of course, everybody had heard. They had heard I had been with a colored man. I don't think any of them cared if it was by choice or not. No man dared to look at me. I had been _tainted_. Little Justine proved that." That was where Tabitha stopped and let the uncomfortable silence fill the room like a poisonous gas.

Deborah took a long, heavy sigh. She had no idea what to say. All that slipped out of her mouth was, "Those police like to use big words, don't they?"

Tabitha laugh a little and sniffled into her tissue. "Yeah, I guess they do."

"I really don't know what was worse for you, dear? The actual event or the way everybody treated you after?"

"Oh I do," Tabitha said with a harsh, angry sniffle; "The way they treated me after. No man, colored or otherwise, would look my way again."

"Does - does Justine know…" Deborah stopped.

"Yes, she knows that her daddy was one-of-three men and that they were not very nice. I had to tell her. The only _positive_ lie I could come up with was that her father had been killed in Korea but," She sniffed; "I couldn't lie to her like that. I just couldn't." Another hard sob came from her, but she regained herself nicely. "That's why she hates colored people. Her dad was colored and all the kids at school make fun of her because she's half-colored."

Reeling with questions, Deborah thought about the one that was at the forefront of her mind, but it was also the one she didn't want to ask the most: _Why didn't you get an abortion?_ She chose one that wasn't so harsh and one that she was naturally curious about. "Did they ever find them?" Deborah felt she already knew the answer.

"No." Tabitha stated strongly. "I don't even think they looked into it or tried to find them."

Another uncomfortable silence filled the room. This one was heavy and deafening. It permeated the air like stale cigar smoke and wafted through the house. It was a good, solid five minutes before the two women spoke to each other again. Tabitha broke the silence with, "Well, I guess I better get Justine off to bed. I'm going to probably hit the hay as well. If you'd like, I have some books in a cabinet over there," Tabitha pointed to a small, wooden cabinet in the corner. "You can sleep on that couch, just try not to put too much weight on the center cushion."

Testing the couch, lying down, Deborah found that it was indeed comfortable.

Tabitha was about to walk away when Deborah stopped her and asked, "Do you hate coloreds?"

Tabitha stopped. She only tilted her head slightly towards Deborah and asked, "Do you hate white people?"

Deborah blinked a bit in confusion. Her first initial reaction was no, she didn't hate white people. She had been a white person not more than 24hrs ago. However, she was learning to hate them because of their no nonsense hate of her. She replied as truthfully as she could, "I don't know."

Not looking at Deborah, Tabitha talked like a forlorn sprit. "If there is one thing I have learned in this world is that hate leads to more hate. Violence begets violence. Only when someone has the guts to stand for peace does the hate stop." Tabitha now looked at Deborah. "Colored, white, yellow, red, doesn't matter the color of someone's skin. There are good and bad in all. There are good men in all castes and there are vile, wicked monsters that _pretend_ that they're men. They only change languages and color to fool good people. I don't hate colored people anymore than I hate a German or a Jap or a Korean. They're all people to me. Hate leads to more hate, always has, always will, I guess." A sigh came form Tabitha as she told Deborah, "Goodnight."

"Tabby?"

Tabitha looked at her with menacing eyes. "What?"

"You - you really don't remember me, do you?"

"Never met you till tonight."

"I guess that's for the best."

The lights turned off and Tabitha went to tuck in Justine.

Deborah lay there with her head pressed to a decorative pillow. It was a bit small for her head but she managed. A thousand thoughts crashed through her head like rolling waves. Some were about Tabitha, some were about Daniel, some were about her permanent skin tone, but most were about Daniel. She finally fell asleep after two hours of wide-eyed worry. The fear that plagued her the most was being alone in this world from now on. The lavish lifestyle, the carefree days of her partying, she'd give it all up if she could just have her one-true lover back in her arms, this night above all others.


	6. To Serve Man & Woman

Deborah had a night of fitful sleep. She awoke biting her pillow and moaning strongly. When she bounded from her bed, she stifled a yell. More police had been chasing her down in her dream. A ragtag bunch of coppers with copper-heads - as in copper-headed snakes. They were tearing at her clothes and biting down on her neck and thigh, injecting her with foamy, acidic venom that burned her black skin an ashy white.

She still had her eyes shut, trying to eject the painful imagery from her mind when she realized something, in her state of mid-dream, she was in _her_ bed. She finally opened her eyes and her familiar bedroom came seeping in. The soft white walls, the dresser over in the corner with the picture of her and her husband staring into each other's eyes in a trance of love and happiness. His _white_ self.

Around this time, she felt movement in the bed and snapped to it. She peeled back the covers and it was her husband, in his boxers, sleeping rather strangely as if he had fallen asleep on a bench. The thing that caught her attention the most was that his regular, old skin tone was back. He was that lightly tanned white. He was back. Back to his old self.

Was she?

She gazed down at her hands and sure enough, her milky white flesh color was back. She flew off her bed and ran to the mirror in her bathroom. What stared back was a face she had not see in over twenty-four hours. Blonde hair with blue eyes. Her ruby lips that would put a rose to shame. She yelped with excitement. " _Honey! We're back!_ "

It was then Daniel stirred and yelled out, " _No! Don't!_ "

" _Honey!_ " Deborah yelled, rushing to her husband's aid. She held him and he held her back. She whispered in his ear reassurances, petting him. That was when he noticed her and gasped. She just smiled back at him and said, "Yep. We're back."

Daniel hugged her again.

Both of them were never so happy to go through their daily routines than this morning. A thousand questions raced through their minds on top of the several hundred-thousand that were already there the day before, but they weren't going to question out loud how they had awoken, returned to their former selves.

When they were both ready, Deborah asked if she could join Daniel at work. He more than agreed. "I don't think I'm going to let you out of my sight for at least the next few weeks!"

They both drove to Daniel's bank. The two felt like they were seeing the world with new eyes. Educated eyes. Every colored person they passed, they felt like they knew now. Most tried to stay out-of-sight but Daniel and Deborah saw them - and they felt sorry for them.

Daniel was the first into the bank and was greeted by everyone. It further cemented that their old lives were retained. Daniel sat at his desk when his boss, Charlie, came into his office. "Hey, Dan. How's it going?"

Sighing with relief, Daniel smiled and said, "Couldn't be better."

"Hell of a party last night, eh?"

Daniel arched his eyebrows. "You can say that again!" He had nearly forgotten about the party. He tried desperately to remember it, but he couldn't. That was probably a good thing.

Meanwhile a man walked into the bank. He was holding a binder with a few papers sticking out of it. A colored man dressed in a fine suit with a smile. He was middle-aged with serious eyes. A friendly, warm demeanor emanated from him. (Although, that was lost on the white occupants of the bank, save for two.) His first stop was one of the tellers, but they just shrugged him off. Charlie, the security guard, was on full alert and was about to kick him out when Daniel saw him. His name emptied out of his mouth with a gasp. "Ezekiel Rancast."

Charlie, his boss, noticed the colored man and snarled. "Who the hell is that Negro and where did he steal those clothes?!"

"He didn't," Daniel said joyously, happy to see his old/new friend.

Sliding a flabbergasted look at Daniel, Charlie asked, "You know him?!"

Daniel snapped back to reality and said unconvincingly, "Uh, no."

"Oh I thought you said his name."

Daniel looked at Charlie and quickly smiled. He then walked out of his office and approached the colored, religious man. He seemed to be distraught as the security guard was approaching. Daniel gave Charlie the signal to back off, and walked up to Ezekiel. He tried to be as friendly as he could. "Sir?"

Ezekiel snapped at Daniel and pleaded, "Please, I only wish to open an account with the little bit I have here. _For where your treasure lie, so shall your heart._ Matthew 6:21."

Daniel just smiled wide and nodded his head. _Yep, definitely Ezekiel_ , he thought. "Come with me. I'll make sure your heart is well taken care of."

Ezekiel was cautious, but trusted the white man to not steer him astray. Daniel directed him into his office and Charlie warned, "Daniel, you - you know we don't serve _his_ kind here."

Daniel just looked at his boss and said, "White or colored skin. Their money's all green."

Charlie had a hard time arguing that fact.

The two sat down at Daniel's desk and the assistant branch manger had a hard time containing himself, like he was sitting down with a long lost family member. He had to ask, "Do you remember me?"

Ezekiel seemed to think hard for a minute then answered with, "No, sir, I'm afraid I do not."

"Would you believe we've met before?"

That knowing smile that Daniel had seen so many time before slid across the tender colored man's face as he answered, "I would, Mr. Steele. If you wouldn't mind me quoting scripture I…"

Daniel interrupted him with delight, "I would be honored."

Ezekiel's smile intensified. " _O' the depth of riches of wisdoms and knowledge of the Lord. How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways pass finding out._ Romans 11:33."

Daniel smiled right back at Ezekiel. "Amen, brother."

Meanwhile, Deborah had found Tabitha's overstuffed office. She sat down as Tabitha was busy with quite a few papers. She was working away, much like Deborah had seen her on that strange yesterday. She smiled until Tabitha finally, slowly noticed her. She asked in an official tone, "How can I help you, Miss. Steele?"

A wry, warm smile came over Deborah. She then said, "I think it's more like what I can do for you."

That was when Tabitha stopped and looked at her like a fiend. "What… do you mean?"

"Tabby…" she stopped herself there. "Tabitha, I know about your little girl and your poor living situation."

Tabitha looked around like she had been caught stealing money from the bank and Deborah was quick to reassure her, "No, no. Don't be scared. I want to help you."

A piercing, questionable gaze came from Tabitha.

"Look - I know your life hasn't really been that great. Doesn't matter how I know, point is I know. Me and Daniel have plenty of room in our house. If you want, and I'm just asking, if you want, you can come and live with us for a little while, you and your daughter, until you can get on your feet and get her in a better school. It would be better than that house your living in right now, and I want to help you."

Swallowing, a firm look took hold of Tabitha. She got up, walked around her desk, and demanded, "I want the truth from you, Deborah. I've seen the way you and your husband have looked at me. How you've treated me before. I don't know if you know what happened to me and I don't -"

Deborah stood up and hugged her. "It's okay, honey. You don't have to tell me. I've seen Justine. I know how I've treated you before, it won't happen again."

In a snap moment, Tabitha broke down and began crying. She sobbed into Deborah's shoulder and the two women held each other for a long while. They only broke their embrace when Daniel introduced the two women to a new friend of his, Ezekiel.

* * *

 _(We can never know the full truths of all people, but we can at least unite in our goals and in our ambitions. Ambitions that can make our world a better, more fruitful, nurturing world. We can only do that if we are willing to see the other side, sympathize with the differences of other men and women. Because as long as we let out differences tear us apart, we'll never let our equalities bring us together. Not here, or anywhere - even in the Twilight Zone.)_


End file.
